


Between Crossroads, Seas, Mountains and Time.

by nahul



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Memories, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Loneliness, Memories, Miya Osamu Needs a Hug, Miya Osamu is Alone, Osamu's OOC here but I would be too, There is lots of contemplation, Thinking, This was meant to feature all the Inarizaki members but I made it about Osamu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 04:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20521589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahul/pseuds/nahul
Summary: The house they grew up in hasn't been home for as long as they can remember.But Osamu can't help but stay there; confined to darkness and memories soaked in sunshine long forgotten.





	Between Crossroads, Seas, Mountains and Time.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by @liltwinflow thank you so so much for taking time to read this!! :D

Time twists and turns around him. 

It curls around his wrist before slapping him like an elastic band sans for the shock of pain that should resonate throughout his bones. Time ages the landscape sprawled out before him, darkened eyes peering from a curtain over houses and territories where kids used to run around, playing tag and hide and seek.

Nothing remains from that time period that is so near yet so distant to him; it turns around a corner so as to hide from his mind’s eye. A bell clangs against his head, ricocheting through his body and reminding him once more. Once more of that landscape that he looks out on now. So different, as time swirls around and around and he tries to grasp onto it. Tries, tries, fails. Tries again.

A sepia portrait graces the barren wasteland of his mind for a flicker of a second. The brown colour of his brother’s hair, the melodic ring of a child’s laugh and the noise of cicadas joining the laughter filling the air. Morning dew and starlit evenings, the strength of Aran’s hand as he pulled him up from where he’d fallen over. Bluebells bloom in his chest and wilt just as quickly, autumnal colours tearing at the picture in his mind.

Pulling away the greens and blues that barely differentiate from the sepia tones of the paper. Threads of green and blue bleed from the page, replaced with the more permanent stain of red. Red-bricked buildings that mar the landscape, hold the rolling hills and the curve of the mountainous skyline prisoner between signs prohibiting entrance and russet railings.

Aran fades from his memory just as quickly. They’d been together since they were kids, but now he only heard wisps of conversations. His figure in his mind’s eye was nothing more than a wisp of a character, one that should probably disappear entirely should it dare to pass through a cloud of smoke. A swathe of emotions fills his heart; the Mediterranean sea clashes with the Pacific ocean, turmoil meeting placidity.

And he feels so lonely. So alone and lonely, that he can’t seem to conjure the wish to have an acquaintance beside him. Perhaps, had his phone been near enough to him, he’d have shot off a text to Atsumu.

He’s all the way across the world though, now. Far removed from the oppressive burgundy curtains Osamu peers from behind. Atsumu seemed to always be ahead of him, and at some point, Osamu stopped attempting to catch him up. Be that upon recognition of the futility of sowing such a brotherly rivalry, or the mere realisation of the naivety one must possess in order to genuinely feel that such an insignificant flicker of candlelight could truly outshine a more unstoppable, incandescent star than the sun itself.

And somewhere along that way, Osamu stopped walking completely. A humble jog bleeding into an aimless amble that ended with him falling flat on his face. Unwilling, unmotivated, to walk much further. Destined forever to stay in one place, as though he’d fallen too soon into his place where he would spend the last of his days.

Cooped up in his childhood room; his childhood house, reliving memories from a different time and staring out onto a bleak landscape. It dulls every day, thickens with smog and buildings and people and he long ago resigned the hope of ever reuniting with the view that sticks in his mind from all those years ago. 

Sometimes, he finds it unbearable. This dissonant pendant swinging round and round, the time that slows and quickens before his eyes, the hum of the radiator and the gentle flicker of the lights. The dusty scent of fresh linen and silk curtains caressing his cheek, he wants to run away sometimes.

But he cannot. Shackled to this dimmed room, the world calls out to him sometimes. Mountainous regions beckoning to him from behind the slithers of red brick that guard it. 

Snippets of a world he is prohibited from entering whisper to him in his dreams, stir up that stationary sea in his heart and motivate him just enough to rattle the cages that keep him at bay. But he cannot, for that world isn’t belonging to him; it was always his twin’s role to live in the sun. 

Echoes of Atsumu’s voice reach through to him, sometimes. Dribbles and drabbles of conversations long ago killed by the passionate fire and smoke that whirls around his head. Promises they’d made to each other, before their paths had diverged.

Fluttering words pass him now, accompanied by a phantom breeze. Inhaling deeply, the words take form and make up shapes and he can see Atsumu’s face before him.

“We’ll run away one day, y’know, ‘Samu.”

Osamu had kept quiet, choosing to focus on tracing shapes in the clouds with his eyes. Speckled, cotton clouds that dotted the skyline amidst monotonous greys had seemed more interesting than the faint glower of a promise from his ten year old twin. Chewing his lip, he grunted in response.

“Not just us. But Kita, Aran, Suna everyone. We’ll all get out this town one day,”

Osamu had pictured it. Somewhat. Them all running away from this place, replacing the oppressive dullness of the skyline with a more clear picture of cornflower blues. Racing each other to the place where the sky meets the sea, the land meets the sun. Glimmering oceans appealed to him, waves lapping against imaginary rocks and the sight of an endless deep blue sea enchanted him. 

He’d sat up, staring at his twin. A reply had formulated itself in his mind, but it hadn’t mustered the strength to fall from his lips. Overflowing with questions, he just pressed his lips shut and flopped back onto the grass.

Atsumu had always been full of wild ideas. Osamu had too, at one point. But he’d never held them ideas too closely, clouded instead by the burden of caring for those who cared not for him. And some point down the road, perhaps it was where the road that had carried him and his twin along split, he found himself stopping.

Atsumu ran off before he even recognised that his twin had stopped. Not that Osamu had really bothered to hold onto him, to call out to him. Or any of them. He’d just let them all pass him by, feeling them brushing against him one last time before disappearing behind a cloud of mist and leaving him between a crossroads.

Pressing his face against the windowpane, he notes raindrops gently placing themselves along the glass.

They run down the window, have a competition as to who may reach the ledge first, blurring his view of the rolling hills lying in the distance. A view marred by pallid clouds that bleed into smoke as far as his eye can see. The breath of a sigh steams up the view even more, distorting it more just as time distorts still.

The tick of the clock is getting louder. 

He recalls now the kiss of a summer’s day long ago, tangled in meadowgrass and drenched in sunlight, the voice of a boy he knew once upon a time. The voice that has long ago made itself subject to the calls of the mountains, telling him to join them somewhere else. Softened smiles slip through the slits in his memory, caring tones telling him to hurry up. A willingness to grasp onto them isn’t as great as the fear of leaving behind this home. 

Or rather, leaving behind the people here. A vice that Atsumu had wriggled out of long ago, broken free from the constraints. Halfheartedly, Osamu wonders whether Atsumu noticed that Osamu was just as constrained as he was. Barred by the scent of smoke intertwined with alcohol, and raised voices that began at three o’clock in the afternoon and stretched through crisp twilight until the sun rose the following day.

Of course Atsumu had noticed, he muses. He’d even tried to help him, sent him messages. Told him to follow him. Booked sailings and flights away, elsewhere, anywhere. Mapped out plans of making some grand escape as though he were an inmate.

But their father couldn’t cope if Osamu left, too. Still can’t cope. One last chance burns a hole in the back of his pocket as he falters, chewing his lip and loosening his grip from the curtains and retiring into the darkness of the room once more.

He recalls the conversation Atsumu had had with him just the other week. No, he doesn’t recall so much as he chooses to focus on it once more. Chooses to focus his attention on it after ignoring the fact it’d taken centre-stage within his mind as soon as the words had been spoken.

A ticket to another life. An olive branch, perhaps. Osamu had pulled away from it, but kept the grip onto the branch slightly for fear of it snapping regardless.

Crawling ever forward, time surges forward once more, and he remembers. Remembers the boy with the soft voice.

_ Kita Shinsuke.  _ Conjuring up the name, arranging it in his mind, he tests the name on his lips.

“Kita Shinsuke,” 

It tastes like placidity, tranquility, a warm hug from a cup of tea on a cold winter’s day. Tastes like sunshine on his tongue; sunshine that’s taken the form of liquid, leaving stains of dulcet golds wherever it touches. 

And as quickly as it appeared, the light wilters once more. Tints of sunshine that had illuminated the room for a second are engulfed by inklings of black. Everything and the world reverts back to monotony.

He swallows. Atsumu had promised that he’d come back for him. The ticket that lies in his back pocket pokes at his conscience, battles with the nostalgia from his childhood and the duty of a son to look after his father. 

_ “‘Samu, please. I’ll be there in two weeks. We can go together.” _

And not for the first time. he remembers the happiness of summers past. They flood his mind like a bittersweet hug, stinging like antiseptic on a deep wound.

Everyone’s moved away now. Away from them summers. Created new memories whilst he was stuck molding the same old memories. 

He wonders whether Suna still lags behind, not because he’s slow but because he wishes not to use up all his energy on tag so early in the morning. Whether Akagi still loves cheese strings and Aran still stashes ritz crackers in his pockets when he goes out. And whether Kita still tells off others for not resting as much as they should, or for not cooling down properly after exercising.

The hands of the clock tick more and more, louder and louder is the drivel of the clock inside his mind as he contemplates. Contemplates between the ticket in his pocket and the odious obligation deeply rooted in his heart. Not for the first time do the mountains call out to him, a welcome embrace in the silence.

It’s so near. Some form of hope. He can feel it, feel the footfalls of his brother approaching in time with the tick of the clock and he wonders how long it’s been since he last saw him.

Click. The click of a door opening registers in his mind. Drags him into a realisation that all the time has worn itself out, that all the deliberation lead him nowhere except here. The room he’s always gone back to.

He’s stood at the crossroads still. Has been for a while. Time stretches out before him, slaps him on the wrist as it passes him by too quickly, daring him to chase it into an endless oblivion that lies beyond the mist of the crossroads.

Osamu doesn’t know whether he wants to go, even though his brother has turned around. Come back. Offers out his hand to him now.

“‘Samu, are you ready?” his brother asks.

Osamu registers him. His brother. His hair is blond now, almost matches the colour of wheat in the field now overridden by buildings, and idly he wonders whether Atsumu has as much recalling their past as Osamu has found himself to have. Time twists and curls and faces blur around his mind. Focusing like a camera lens for a second before turning off and refusing to recall them.

“‘Samu?”

His brother’s hand is outstretched. Waiting to receive him. At the crossroads, ready to bring him into the mist and fog and darkness that waits before him. Osamu wonders when their roles changed, when Atsumu stopped being so scared of the darkness and Osamu began being so scared of the unknown.

Or maybe, it wasn’t that at all. Maybe, Atsumu had just placed too much hope in them idle dreams to make them more substantial than mere wisps of clouds passing by on a summer’s day.

And without blinking, Osamu is elsewhere. Removed from the dark room, thrust into the sunlight. Glancing down at the sea that laps gently over each wave. Salt laces his lips, sprinkles a taste of the sea across his cheeks as he stares into the depths of the water. 

He’s at the crossroads as time warps again. Before him. He doesn’t let go of his brother’s hold as he begins to trudge through the path he originally went through.

Atsumu returned for him. Fulfilled that silly promise they’d made when they were 10 on his behalf. And all Osamu really had to do was not let go of Atsumu’s grip.

He’s not going to miss the town, really. He leans against the wall, observing the crowds as they swim all around him. Bustling holidaymakers eager to get out of the town. Atsumu says something to him, but he can’t register it. Can’t register anything sans for the noise of the crowds and the slow, painful tick of the clock. Searching, searching for something other than people and noise and the foreboding sensation clambering for attention in his chest; worry for his father bleeding into his morale. Darkened eyes latch onto the ship that lies in the quay ahead of them. Waiting.

Waiting to take them to a destination somewhere far among the weeping mountains that are home. The childhood room he’s lived in. Waiting to take them somewhere he has no recollection of, waiting to mess up even more his sense of self. This eager promise that beckons to him clasps his shirt in anguished anticipation for fulfillment. 

He cannot do this.

He is not Atsumu. Not born to adapt, to run away and forget all the badness with hair dye and laughter. Osamu cannot create new memories, it’s too late. The sun has already begun to set, it’s too late in the day to attempt to create such a thing as new memories. Too late to remember what he did at dawn. 

“‘Samu? Are you alright?”

He’s at a crossroads, and the olive branch snaps and he shrugs off Atsumu’s grip without a word of notice.

The clocks alert him that it’s too late. Past his curfew. He slinks back into the sunset, behind bars and foreboding signs and unmoving curtains. A dark room awaits him.

“Osamu!” Atsumu’s voice is strained. Calls out to him; he can barely register it.

It’s as though he’s on autopilot, and he’s pushing through crowds. Has to get away. The rope that binds his life to this Earth will snap if he leaves. Duty calls in the form of wispy blackness and the dying breaths of a man who’s never loved him yet Osamu is so…  _ obliged  _ to nurse.

When Atsumu grasps his arm once more, Osamu doesn’t utter a word of remorse. Of recognition. Of apology. He’s forgotten who he is once more.

And he retreats to the place where time eats away at him.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended to be a story featuring all the Inarizaki members, but I don't know what happened aAAAh i'm so sorry D: I hope you enjoyed it somewhat nonetheless?  
Please leave some feedback regardless hehe
> 
> and feel free to come yell at me on my twitter @kiyoomimi .


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